"
I turned my prisoner over to the guard of the wagon lines, first
informing the Quartermaster, and when he asked me what the trouble was,
I had to tell him of the variance of the prisoner's story told him and
that he told the Major, and that the Major directed that he be up for
orderly room in the morning. Without any further ceremony Scotty was
jammed in the clink.
It was now almost daybreak of the morning of the third day following our
first gas attack and, almost ready to drop with fatigue, I went over to
the wagon lines, gathered some straw and bags together under an
ammunition wagon, and was in a dead sleep in less time than it takes to
tell it.
At ten-thirty I reported to the orderly room to attend Scotty's trial.
The Major was in his appointed place and in due course the guard marched
in with the prisoner. His ammunition pouches and cap had been removed
and he stood to attention as well as the contour of his legs and the
thickness of his yellow streak permitted. Still I could not help
remembering what he had done at Mons; there was no doubt about that
because I had seen his scar and I knew that the ranks of the Seaforth
Highlanders had never held a coward; and I mentally concluded that he
must really have been suffering from shell shock or he would never have
left his post as he did, and I sincerely hoped that he would in some way
get through.
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